


The Times In Between

by spittingfeathers



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, for prompt fills and AUs buzzing about on my tumblr, will post as and when inspiration strikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1:"Am I Your First? -- Thorin/Bilbo (M/M) -- Bilbo can't keep his mouth shut and innuendos abound. Thorin is flustered and Bilbo is bold.<br/>2:"The Wanderer" -- Thorin/Bilbo (M/M) -- Gandalf is a meddler and purposely gives Thorin, a writer for Gandalf's Travel company, Bilbo's address. Being a local to Hobbiton Bilbo will of course know all the best spots to write about, that and the poor boy needs to get out more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Am I Your First?

**Author's Note:**

> One-shots and ideas that may turn into something later once I've finished working on my fem!Bilbo/Thorin fic...
> 
> This was inspired by this post -- http://fatynthemachine.tumblr.com/post/105897623479/fatynthemachine-when-thorin-starts-insulting -- from my tumblr (art by me), you can follow me for more art, Hobbits and Dwarves of which my blog has plenty (fatynthemachine.tumblr.com)
> 
> Updates will be as and when inspiration strikes. Mainly centred around Thorin/Bilbo though other pairings may present themselves later on :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf is a meddler and purposely gives Thorin, a writer for Gandalf's Travel company, Bilbo's address. Being a local to Hobbiton Bilbo will of course know all the best spots to write about, that and the poor boy needs to get out more.

**Chapter 1: Am I your First?**

Honestly, Bilbo was having far too much fun.

Though when ‘ _fun_ ’ turned into ‘ _I have a death wish watch me antagonise the king of the dwarves!_ ’ he didn’t know.

They had just left Rivendell and had come upon an apple tree full of bright red and green fruits ripe for the picking when Bombur had suggested they stop and add to their supplies. Bilbo, being the lightest, had been given the task of climbing another’s shoulders to pick the apples so they could be added to their packs or eaten on the move. What he hadn’t expected was that it would be Thorin’s shoulders he would have to sit on top of!

“I am one of the tallest in the company besides Dwalin—“

Bilbo shook his head, feeling quite secure and perhaps just a little reckless. It was the closest they’d been to one another and though he tried not to show it, Bilbo was quite flustered.

Bilbo took a deep breath, words forming in his mouth and being spoken before he could censor it.

“Oh no I wasn’t complaining - I am sure there will be plenty of room for me to sit. You’ve got very broad shoulders.” Bilbo smirked as he began to pick all the shiny red and green apples within reach. Thorin said nothing, just stood stiffly beneath him, hands holding Bilbo safely just above his knees - because that wasn’t distracting at all.

Eventually he couldn’t keep silent for a moment more. “Have you done this before?” Bilbo asked, all too innocently.

“If you’re worried about me dropping you—“ Thorin growled.

“Oh no, not at all!” he cut in, already feeling the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, unable to be contained. “I was just wondering whether I was your first.”

Thorin’s anger dissipated in the wake of his confusion. “First what?”

It was obviously a sign that his Took side had been far to repressed in the Shire that he seemed to think it was a good idea to tease the rather angry looking Dwarven King.

“Well. I just wanted to know…Is this the first time you’ve had your head between a Hobbit’s legs or _am I your first_?”

 _Oh he was so going to die_.

So, instead of retracting his statement or laughing it off Bilbo bent forward and caught Thorin’s eyes and grinned widely, waggling his eyebrows for greater effect.

Strangely the expected shouting or growling from Thorin Oakenshield never came. Instead the Dwarf huffed and looked away and for a moment Bilbo thought he caught a hint of a blush. But that would be ridiculous, surely Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t be so affected by anything he said - that was what made it a challenge - and the Dwarf was almost four times his age! There would be very little that would ruffle his feathers and certainly not a plump middle-aged Hobbit from the Shire.

“Not a Hobbit then?” Bilbo confirmed when Thorin said nothing, only moving forward so he could reach a new patch of apples. It was a shame he couldn’t see his expression properly. Maybe he would have to ask Ori to record the look on the king’s face so he could look at it later. “Have you _ever_ had your head between someone’s legs?”

Why was he still pushing this? Thorin could quite easily—

“I’m very temped to drop you on your arse, Burglar.”

Ah. Yes.

“Finish picking the apples and then we can be on our way.”

Maybe Bilbo should get Ori to draw his company portrait now just in case his mouth got away from him and Thorin decided they no longer needed a Burglar.

“Well, if you haven’t tried it I can tell you it’s quite good - well much better than that if you have an experienced partner…back in the Shire there was a lovely lass who taught me something extraordinary — I could show you if you like — I don’t think I’m quite as good as she, but the things she did with her tongue—”

Bilbo landed on his arse with a thump and looked up at a rather red-faced Thorin Oakenshield.

“I take it that was a no then?”

Bilbo was pretty sure his father was turning in his grave and his mother’s spirit was crying with laughter.

The dwarf looked incredulously at him. “Were you propositioning me?” he asked stunned.

“Well I would if I thought you would be interested—“ Bilbo was hauled up, apples flying from his pockets and basket was sent tumbling to the ground, and pulled face to face with the scowling Dwarf King. “Perhaps I have overstepped the mark…”

“You overstepped the mark weeks ago. Don’t think I haven’t noticed - I am not as blind as the others think I am, I simply chose to ignore what was said.”

“It was all in good fun you understand—“

“Are you going to go back on your word Master Burglar?”

There was a strange light in Thorin’s eyes, perhaps a spark of teasing and something else Bilbo wanted to explore, and now it was Bilbo’s turn to be a little confused.

“My word? I don’t believe I gave it, Master Dwarf.”

“Come now Master Burglar” and this time the Dwarf smirked and Bilbo’s smile fled, “you offered to show me your extraordinary skill you learnt back in the Shire.” Oddly the king now looked a little unsure of himself and he leant back, fingers already releasing his jacket and eyes returning to their usual angry expression, “unless it truly was an offer made in jest.”

Now Bilbo smirked, a thoroughly unexpected, but pleasant turn of events. Perhaps it was a way of getting on better terms with Thorin Oakenshield - and Bilbo sorely wanted to.

“Well then,” Bilbo said, quickly tossing back the scattered apples back into their basket before straightening and brushing down his newly repaired clothes. “A Baggins always keeps his word and though Tooks are often known for their boldness, I think we’d both prefer a bit more privacy than this. There is a sheltered spot not far from here…?”

Bilbo’s stomach did summersaults as Thorin looked at him, a rare smile lifting the corners of his lips as his voice rumbled. “Lead the way then Master Baggins.”

The apples were found an hour later when the company went looking for their King and Burglar though saw neither hide nor hair of the pair for quite some time.

When they did eventually emerge from the tree line (as the sun had almost sunk below the horizon), the others called out greetings and questions in equal measure, wondering at the smug look on their burglar’s face and the flushed face of their King as he fidgeted on his bedroll.

Though neither said where they had been, their disappearances came more often, and soon enough those who had not guessed before could now easily imagine what the two were doing. Returning rumpled and flushed to the camp more often than not.

No questions were asked -- though winks and veiled innuendo were allowed -- and all in all, Bilbo's closeness to Thorin Oakenshield changed nothing except the frequency with which the Dwarf King smiled.

 


	2. The Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a reporter for a country roads type of magazine. He has absolutely no sense of direction. Bilbo is working in his gardenv and watches Thorin pass him up twice before he finally takes pity on him and they strike up a friendship that slowly becomes more

He hated to admit it. Absolutely hated it. But he, Thorin Durin, was lost. The map given to him by Gandalf was a confusing mess of squiggles though his handwriting was neat. Thorin’s Sat Nav had run out of battery after sending him into the middle of a field and lo and behold, his car was now low on fuel. If he didn’t want to spend the night in his car, which was looking more and more likely as time went on, he needed to ask for directions.

The red light on his dashboard flashed tauntingly.

There was no way he could get out of this maze alone. Well, that was if he could even find his way back to the cottage he’d seen earlier. It was the only glimpse of civilisation that he had seen for miles. Apparently there were meant to be pubs and parks and even a pretty river running through somewhere though Thorin had never found it. Gandalf must have been lying - there was nothing but grassy hills and trees for miles!

With a grumble to himself Thorin began to try and make his way back to the cottage he’d seen earlier, a scowl darkening his brow as he followed the road around to head back the way he came. But it went on…and on…and on, and there was seemingly no end in sight. He turned left and then right and then went around in circles until he felt he’d be lost forever in this rather idyllic wasteland and—the engine wheezed…and died.

“Fuck.” Thorin yelled, banging his head against the steering wheel. “Bloody, buggering, fucking piece of—“

A loud knock sounded from his window making Thorin jerk back in surprise, intending to give whoever had interrupted him a piece of his mind when—

“Are you alright?”

Perhaps not. 

The man at the window was looking at him with amusement, eyes warm and hair a golden riot of curls around his head. He was cute. The man even had dimples when he smiled. Simply adorable. Thorin wound down the window and tried not to look like a complete idiot - he hoped the steering wheel hadn’t left a mark on his forehead…

“I’m lost.” Thorin said eventually when the man’s smile began to drop, probably thinking Thorin was some sort of lunatic with a violent streak from all the head banging and swearing. 

“Don’t worry, lots of people who come this way do,” the man nodded in sympathy, using easy gestures with his hands when he began to give Thorin directions, “just continue on this road for about half a mile, then turn right…what?“

The blank look on Thorin’s face must have said it all.

“…I’ve also run out of petrol.”

“Ah. Well, there’s a petrol station just a few miles back, you must have passed it on your way here.”

At this, Thorin frowned, “What are you talking about there’s nothing around here.”

“Except for me.”

Shit.

“Yes, err, sorry.” Thorin grumbled back, feeling heat prickle the back of his neck. Well Thorin didn’t know what to say and the man just leaned happily against the side of his car, an idea seemed to come to him, the thought lit up his whole face - and perhaps it was a sign, a rather cheesy one at that - that the sun broke through the clouds and cast his golden curls into the light. 

Mahal help him.

“Do you know what—“

Thorin’s stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, the volume of which could be compared to an avalanche.

“Hungry?” the man teased.

“Missed lunch,” Thorin grumbled. He’d been booked in at The Prancing Pony where he would wait for his local tour guide, Gandalf had made the reservations, though he doubted he’d make it there on time now. 

“Why don’t you come in, I’ve just made a pie for later and I’m afraid I won’t be able to eat it all by myself - you’re welcome to some if you like.”

“I wouldn’t want—“ Thorin said awkwardly, his stomach giving another rumble in protest and the man laughed. 

“Come now, I’ll even drive you to the petrol station afterwards to get some petrol for your car, how does that sound? I’m Bilbo by the way, Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo gave Thorin a cheeky grin and mock bow as he stepped away from the car. 

“I’m Thorin Durin.” he replied. 

Bilbo raised a brow when Thorin made no move to leave his car. “C’mon, it’ll get cold if it doesn’t get eaten soon. I don’t bite, honest!”

With a low thank you and grumbles about pushing his car over to the side of the road he pulled out his work satchel and followed the man to his home, which apparently he’d just passed a fifth time.

“I was out gardening and I saw you go past again, and again, and again I decided to come and see whether you needed any help so I waited and watched you go by again—“ Bilbo grinned having already finished his meal.

“Alright, I get the message,” Thorin grumbled, looking grumpily at the man sitting across from him. Of course his expression wasn’t too severe - it would almost nice to those who knew him, but that was only because the pie was delicious and his host was…tolerable.

“Well, you did stop pretty much outside my house so I had to come and see if you were alright. I hope you don’t mind me asking but where were you meant to be going today?”

“To the market, the Prancing Pony and general sights and such. It was recommended to me by my employer - I write for The Wanderer. I had the postcode already in my Sat Nav but it kept taking me around in circles and the map Gandalf gave me was no help at all—”

“Wait, you work for Gandalf?” Bilbo said in shock and Thorin frowned, “No—I didn’t mean it like that—it’s just I know Gandalf! I used to work for him a couple of years ago before I turned freelance. I only spoke to him a few days ago actually…” Bilbo’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You don’t happen to have the map on you? Any chance I could take a look at it?”

Thorin shrugged and handed over the paper Gandalf had given him and watched as Bilbo’s lips pinched in a displeased motion. Bilbo turns the map this way and that, and then he spies something.

“Why that no-good-meddling-old-coot!” Bilbo blusters. “Look—look at this!” he turns the map around to show Thorin - as though he’s never actually seen it before - and taps the corner where the postcode is written in Gandalf’s neat hand. “This - this is the reason you’ve been going in circles. He directed you to my house! Bastard!” Thorin blinks, stunned as Bilbo begins to rant at him. “I told him - I said he should find someone else to do it, I’m rather busy and well, I deserve a few days off every now and then…”

“So you’re saying Gandalf gave me your address instead of The Prancing Pony’s, why?”

Bilbo stills but Thorin’s words only seem to make it more agitated. “Bastard.” he says again, under his breath. “He called me three days ago asking whether I would consent to being a guide for one of his reporters, I declined and made up that I was to be dining at the Prancing Pony — obviously Gandalf decided to meddle —“

“Like he always does”

“—yes, quite! And so here you are, in my house!”

“Here I am.”

“Yes!”

“So…are you actually going to the Prancing Pony then?” Thorin asks eventually.

Bilbo looks confused, “What? Of course I’m not, I made it up remember—“

“I do, except I think that after the morning we’ve had we deserve it and should make use of the most of the reservation Gandalf made.”

“But why?” Bilbo frowns.

A sly grin appears on Thorin’s face and he looks at Bilbo with devilish blue eyes, “Oh, you must remember, when doing field work, Gandalf pays for expenses.” 

Bilbo’s eyes light up and he laughs, getting to his feet. “Oh, I think he’s deserved a rather substantial bill, don’t you?”

Thorin can’t help but agree, waiting patiently as Bilbo locks up the house and leads him to his car.

“We’ll get your petrol first and then we’ll go - and not just to the Prancing Pony either, I know all the best spots in Hobbiton.”

They end up calling several taxi’s throughout the day, from each a receipt is carefully collected. Bilbo leads him to several shops and scenic places he can write about for his review. They have afternoon tea, visit the bakery and several small family-owned shops that sell various knickknacks before they get peckish and head to the Prancing Pony for dinner and drinks. 

By the time they’ve finished it’s already late and they’ve racked up a long list of bills that they may feel guilty for in the morning, but Thorin’s surprised at how much this doesn’t feel like work, and how it seems more like a date. They’ve been talking for hours about Hobbiton, work, family and everything else that seems to crop up in conversation, one topic seamlessly flowing into the next. Bilbo’s pleasantly surprised at how much he’s enjoyed Thorin’s company, and being rather handsome helps too, and he can’t remember the time he laughed quite so much. The realisation makes him pause and he realises that he doesn’t really want the night to finish quite so soon.

“C’mon, there’s one more place you need to go to—“

Thorin doesn’t protest and follows eagerly along, regaling Bilbo with a tale about his nephew’s antics that makes his sides ache and stumble along the cobbled path as they walk.

They end up at Bagshot Row which is possibly the best place Bilbo has taken them to so far. It’s small but cosy and the drinks are reasonably priced. It’s definitely a good job that Thorin was done making notes about the places they’d been to because after the fifth drink and Bilbo’s slurred recommendation to try the house special ‘Gamgee Moonshine’ everything after that becomes a bit of a blur.

In the morning after they’d stumbled out of the taxi at Bilbo’s, incredibly drunk and giggling like teens, they leave a trail of clothes to Bilbo’s room and collapse on his bed in just their boxers. They talk about odd things, random strings of thought they speak aloud and trail off when they can’t remember where those thoughts were heading as though they’ve been friends for years instead of hours. Finally, when the sky begins to lighten and promise another warm morning, Thorin and then Bilbo falls asleep, pulling the blankets up to their chins and snoring softly.

The next morning Thorin wakes to the unwelcome sight of Gandalf Grey twinkling, at him.

“No…oh Mahal” Thorin rasps, his mouth feeling dry with a tongue like old carpet. Thorin knows what’s coming before it happens.

Gandalf smiles and his eyes twinkle brighter, in his hand he clutches a sizeable amount of receipts that Thorin had stuffed in his jeans pocket the night before. Then, despite his hands over his ears, Thorin knows it won’t help but does it anyway, Gandalf bids him a very loud and enthusiastic “Good Morning!”

Thorin groans as his head pounds angrily though beside him Bilbo stirs and sits up with a red eyed glare, his hair sticking up in all directions and gives Gandalf a sharp gesture that only makes the old man laugh.

“I told you not to use the spare key unless it was an emergency.” Bilbo gripes softly as he pats his bedside table for his usual glass of water - thankfully it’s there. “And this is my bedroom so no one gets to come in without an invitation.” 

Gandalf just laughs loudly and with no sympathy for their delicate states, “ah, well then, I guess I’ll leave you and Thorin to it then—“

Bilbo stills as Gandalf’s words register and slides his eyes over to Thorin who has buried his face in the crook of his elbow, the covers have slipped down to reveal Thorin’s broad muscled chest and Bilbo finds himself downing the rest of the water in effort to cool down.

Gandalf’s still talking as he walks down the hall to the front door, “—take the day off Thorin, you can tell me how the trip to Hobbiton was tomorrow!” 

They hear the door close and the jangle of keys as the door is locked once more.

“No one comes in unless invited, huh?” Thorin mumbles from beside him.

“Oh shush you.” Bilbo’s face turns bright red, as he gets up and hurries out of the room at a quicker pace than usual. “I’m going to make breakfast, join me when you feel capable.”

Thorin doesn’t feel capable at the moment and so takes a moment to collect himself, and if he also peeks at Bilbo’s retreating form as he heads for the kitchen then that’s his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this was a prompt sent to my ask box on tumblr and I may have gotten a little carried away 0.0


End file.
